It's Just Chemistry
by consultingpathologist
Summary: London is in the midst of a heat wave and Molly decides to teach Sherlock a thing or two in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Sherlock reveals a new case that he's working on and asks for Molly's help. Partially inspired by a scene in Labor Day. Set between S3E2 and S3E3.


Molly pushed open the door of 221 Baker Street. She stepped into the cool, dark hallway and stopped to lean against the door. London was in the midst of a heat wave that was not predicted to weaken anytime soon. Sweat had begun to accumulate between her shoulder blades and drip down her back on the walk from the Tube station as the sun had beat down. Everyone outdoors staggered along the sidewalks in a heat-induced daze, eager to find relief from the punishing conditions. The air was thick with humidity and pressed down on the shoulders of those unfortunate enough to be out in it. The promise of rain lingered in the air, just waiting for the chance to break through the clouds, but for the time being it only hung in the air, teasing everyone's hopes.

Molly rested a moment in the quiet lobby, savoring the relief from the cruel weather. Using the book she held in her hands, she began fanning herself to cool down faster. A smile crept onto her face as she breathed in the familiar scent of the building. It always felt good to be at Baker Street. It felt like a real home, unlike her own unremarkable and, frankly, dreary flat.

Just as she was about to head up the stairs, the door to 221A opened.

"Oh hello, dear. Here to see Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson stepped into the hallway holding a bowl of fruit balanced on her hip.

"Yes, I'm dropping something off." Molly waved the book in her hand. "How are you?"

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Well, I would better knowing that John and Mary were back from their honeymoon. Honestly, Sherlock is impossible to deal with these days. He's always biting my head off about one thing or another. Even more than usual!"

Molly smiled sympathetically. John and Mary had been gone a week. Sherlock had been texting Molly every day and stopping by Bart's on a regular basis, even when there was nothing for him to do. Yesterday evening he had texted and asked if he could borrow a psychology book that Molly had mentioned while they were dissecting a diseased brain. Molly knew then that he was getting lonely. It had sounded more like an invitation to stop by rather than him needing reading material. She had just gotten off a long shift at work and didn't feel like making the trek to Baker Street. She would have made him come get it at Bart's, but today was her day off and she needed to get out of the house. Things with Tom had gotten complicated and Molly wasn't looking forward to dealing with those issues for the time being. Sherlock was a welcome distraction.

"Would you mind taking this up to him?" Mrs. Hudson gestured to the bowl in her hands. "Mr. Chatterjee had all these ripe peaches and I can't eat them all myself. I doubt Sherlock will want them, but I thought I'd try. Take some for yourself too, dear."

"I'd be happy too." Molly reached for the bowl only to have Mrs. Hudson grab her hand.

"Maybe you can talk some sense into him. But be careful! I think what he needs is a new case. The heat must be keeping people from committing murder lately. Everyone's just too hot to do anything." She threw up her hands in exasperation.

Molly tried to stifle a giggle and took the fruit. "I'll try my best."

* * *

><p>She headed up the stairs and heard faint voices coming from the flat.<p>

"Sherlock?" Molly knocked on the door.

"Come in," the deep voice responded distractedly.

Molly opened the door expecting to find Sherlock with company, but he was alone. He was seated as the desk, focused intensely at his laptop.

"Ah, Molly. Perfect timing. I need your medical expertise."

Molly walked over to him, glancing over his shoulder at the video he was watching. "Are you watching an autopsy? Where did you get this?"

Sherlock ignored the questions. "Would you say these stab wounds on the abdomen were fatal?"

If she had found anyone else watching a video of this nature, Molly would have thought it strange. But for Sherlock, it seemed fairly normal. She studied the screen.

"They don't look deep enough. It looks like they're more scratches than stabs. I don't think they would have done much internal damage. Look at the edges of the wounds though. The skin looks infected, like some substance got into the cuts and irritated the area. It could be poisoning. The knife could have been covered in some sort of chemical that entered the blood stream through the cuts. Although it's hard to judge from a computer screen."

"Hm. Yes. Exactly what I was thinking." Sherlock fell silent entranced by the video.

The stuffiness of the room suddenly overcame Molly.

"Sherlock, it's so hot in here. How do you stand it?" Molly began opening all the windows to let in the breeze.

"I hardly noticed." Sherlock said distractedly, focused entirely on his computer. He was wearing a dark blue dressing gown and pajama pants.

Molly fanned the front of her shirt. Her forehead was covered in sweat and her hair was now sticking to her face. The hot breeze did little to help the temperature, but at least brought much needed airflow into the room.

"I brought that book you wanted." She set it on the table next to him. "Also, Mrs. Hudson had some ripe peaches to give to you." She waved the bowl in front of the computer. Sherlock briefly looked up before turning back to the computer.

Molly rolled her eyes. She went to the kitchen and put the bowl on the crowded tabletop. It was a mess. Lab equipment covered every inch of space. She looked in the fridge only to find it mostly empty besides for a few experiments in progress. In a plastic bag, there appeared to be a heart floating in some liquid. She sighed.

"Sherlock, what do you ever eat? All you have are body parts," she shouted towards the other room.

Molly turned away from the refrigerator only to see him standing near her by the table.

"It just sort of happens one way or the other."

Molly shook her head. She knew it _just happened_ as a result of either Mrs. Hudson or the Chinese restaurant down the street.

Suddenly, she was struck by an idea.

"Sherlock, I'm going to teach you to bake."

"Wh-what?" He looked at her strangely, as if she had asked him to get up on the table and dance.

"Come on, I'll teach you. I know you're not busy right now."

"I'm…working on a case."

She crossed her arms and gave him a stern look.

"Well, I'm starting on a case. Soon."

Molly handed him the bowl. "Here start peeling." Sherlock looked utterly dumbfounded.

She began looking through the cupboards. Not surprisingly, there weren't any of the necessary ingredients. Instead, there were things that one should never find in a kitchen.

"Are these teeth?" She asked, holding up a jar.

Sherlock grabbed it from her. "I need those."

"I'm going to run down to Mrs. Hudson's and see if I can borrow a few things. Clean off some of this so we have some space." She gestured towards the table and countertop covered in beakers and brightly colored bottles of acids. Sherlock gave her a confused look. Molly ignored him, secretly laughing to herself, and dashed downstairs.

Luckily, Mrs. Hudson had all the required items she needed. But when Molly told her what it was for, she looked incredulous about the whole idea.

"If you can get Sherlock to do something in the kitchen besides his bloody experiments, well…" Mrs. Hudson couldn't even finish the thought. Molly, though, was up for a challenge. Nothing pleased her more than making Sherlock rattled. She thought back to when she told Sherlock about having lots of sex with Tom. It hadn't been _entirely_ true, at least not for a while, but it was worth just seeing his expression. But she didn't want to think about Tom right now.

* * *

><p>Molly headed back upstairs expecting to find the kitchen still a mess. Instead, to her amazement, she found Sherlock clearing things off the table just like she'd asked. Her heart did a little flip in her chest. There was just something about seeing Sherlock doing normal, domestic things. It was a side to him that most people didn't get to see. He was a just a human being. He may be strange and have his quirks, like having body parts in his kitchen, but he needed food, water, sleep, and a roof over his head just like any person did. He needed companionship and the love of others. <em>Love<em>. Molly knew that Sherlock was capable of loving. She'd seen it in the way he cared for his friends and for Mrs. Hudson. She seen the love he had for his work. Was he capable being _in love_? Could he ever love her? She buried the thought for now, but it was likely going to torture her as she lay awake at night.

"We're in luck." She said, holding up the supplies and setting them on the cleaned off space.

Sherlock sat down at the table, watching her closely. Molly pretended not to notice and pulled her hair into a messy bun on top of her head.

"Baking is just a kind of chemistry, you know? It's all about having the right proportions of ingredients and putting them together in a certain way so that they react with each other properly. Like to form a perfect crust, you need carefully measured ingredients, but you also have to make sure the butter is cold and that you don't overwork the dough. It's a delicate balance of ingredients and effort. Except it's better than chemistry because you get to eat your results."

Molly knew how to spark Sherlock's interest.

"What are we making?"

"Pie."

Molly found two knives in the drawer and sat in the chair facing Sherlock. She pushed the bowl in between them and they began peeling in silence. Molly felt Sherlock's eyes glance in her direction several times.

There was a comfortable silence between them. Neither felt compelled to speak. Molly always felt at ease in the kitchen. Peeling the fuzzy skin off of a peach felt as natural to her as using a scalpel to dissect a corpse. To her surprise, Sherlock, too, seemed to know what he was doing. Maybe he had more practice in the kitchen than she thought. From their various chats at Bart's, she had been able to piece together that his mother had quit work as a mathematician to raise her boys. Perhaps she had taught him kitchen skills, but he just chose not to use them.

They added the chopped fruit to a bowl and Molly showed Sherlock how much sugar, flour, cinnamon, and salt to add.

Molly turned on the oven to pre-heat and went over to Sherlock's side of the table to measure the ingredients for the crust.

The heat started to become unbearable. Even Sherlock had tossed aside his dressing gown. His dark curls were now sticking to his forehead and he was sweating through his white t-shirt. Molly tried not to gawk, but seeing his bare skin felt more intimate than it should. In all the years she had known him, she had never seen this much of his arms before. They were more muscular than she'd expected and his freckles stood out on the pale skin. Molly had worked side-by-side Sherlock so often in the lab and was always aware of his strength. It was something one didn't notice at a distance, but up close she could feel in his presence. He was slim, but solid. She didn't think he wasted time going to a gym, but somehow his body managed to stay toned. He stood a good six inches taller than her and had perfect posture that exuded strength and confidence. Molly knew Sherlock could lift her off her feet without any difficulty. She had often imagined what that sensation would feel like, to be in those arms…

Sherlock looked up and caught her staring. She jerked her head away from his glance and wiped away the sweat on her forehead.

"Not the best day to be baking I suppose."

"You could just take your shirt off."

A full minute passed in which Molly and Sherlock stared at each other. Blood rose to her cheeks making her even more flushed than she already was.

"I'm not joking or trying to be crass. You'd be more comfortable." He motioned toward her grey t-shirt that was soaked at this point.

"I-I-…"

"It's not a big deal. Here…" Before she could protest Sherlock pulled his shirt over his head. "Now we can be even."

Molly was now standing in the kitchen with a half-naked Sherlock. A half-naked _sweaty_ Sherlock. She tried to remain calm but her head started to spin. She couldn't help but notice his toned physique. His chest was direct at her eye-level. It might as well have had a sign saying: _Go ahead,_ _I dare you_.

Molly felt ridiculous. Why did she have to be so affected by him? They were friends. Friends didn't care about being naked in front of each other.

"Look if you're too afraid…"

"I'm not afraid." Molly felt her anger rising up. He was challenging her and she could never resist a challenge. She had come so far in her relationship with Sherlock to be where they were at now. She had thought at one point that maybe Sherlock had considered her as more than a friend, but her engagement had put an end to that. But it was a comfortable friendship and they worked so well together, so why would this change anything?

Without another thought, she pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Luckily today she had worn one of her decent bras, although it happened to be bright pink with polka dots, the exact same shade as the shorts she was wearing. It was unplanned matching. But then again she hadn't been planning on half-naked baking in Sherlock's kitchen either. Along with her flushed skin, she was now just one solid shade of pink.

Molly couldn't look Sherlock in the eye and instead focused on measuring the flour, acting as though the whole situation wasn't unusual at all. She felt Sherlock's eyes on her and tried to distract herself, while praying that Mrs. Hudson didn't decide to check on their progress. What would she think if she could see them right now?

After the initial shock wore off, Molly had to admit that she felt much better. The breeze from the window helped to cool the sweat on her skin. Sherlock seemed unfazed about being shirtless which made her feel more comfortable. John had once told her about Sherlock refusing to put on clothes for a case at Buckingham Palace, so apparently he had no qualms about being naked in front of others.

They set about measuring the other dry ingredients for the pie crust. Molly showed him how to cut the butter into the mixture to start to form the dough. She added cold water and used her hands to form the mixture into a ball of dough. The hot and humid conditions made the dough form quickly and Molly showed Sherlock how to gently kneed it and roll it out.

Just as they worked so well doing lab working and solving cases, so did they at baking. They had fallen into their natural rhythm. Sherlock seemed interested in the process and Molly was happy to be the teacher for once, although she tried not to look up too often for fear of staring at his naked flesh.

As Molly was laying half of the rolled out crust in Mrs. Hudson's pie plate, Sherlock caught her off guard.

"Where did you learn how to do this?"

Sherlock didn't usually ask personal questions. Molly knew he wasn't a fan of small talk. They chatted at Bart's about friends, hobbies, and science-related topics, but he never talked much about his past. Molly had tried asking others at Bart's about Sherlock, but nobody really knew much either.

"My dad taught me." She bit her lip. Her father had passed away several years ago, but it still hurt to talk about him.

"He loved to bake. He was the cook in our family. My mom never liked it." She paused and started pressing the crust into the pan.

Sherlock didn't respond. Instead, he reached over to help her and their hands bumped. For a split second neither moved. Molly was the first to break contact and reached for a towel to wipe the flour off of her fingers.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said still looking at his hands. "About your dad."

"It's ok." She was touched by his sympathy. "He was a good man, in addition to being a good baker. I'm glad he taught me because whenever I bake I can remember him when he was happy, when he didn't have to pretend." She looked at Sherlock and shared a knowing glance. He gave a small smile, likely recalling their conversation in the lab about her father that had changed his opinion of her and had led him to ask for her assistance in faking his death.

Molly added the peaches to the crust and laid the second crust on top, showing Sherlock how to crimp the edges.

"It's important to make cuts on the top to let the steam out." Inspired by the surroundings, she decided to have fun with it and poked a skull and crossbones design on the top. It seemed appropriate.

"Hm, not very accurate proportions." Molly could tell Sherlock was teasing and playfully swat at his arm. The skin-on-skin contact sent a jolt up her arm.

She took the pie and placed it in the hot oven. The open door let out a wave of blazing heat, which caused them both to gasp for breath.

Without the distraction of baking, Molly felt at a loss what to do.

"Well, it takes about forty-five minutes."

Molly began to gather up the dirty dishes and pile them in the sink.

"Leave them." Sherlock waved at them.

"Are you sure?"

"They'll get taken care of." He turned and headed toward the living room. Molly followed and they both stood, awkwardly waiting for the other to make a move. Sherlock gestured for her to sit in John's chair and then took his place in his own.

"How about some music?" Molly asked, unsure of what else to do.

Sherlock took out his phone and plugged it into the speakers on the nearby table. The sounds of a solo violin filled the room. The music was melancholy, but with a sense of urgency. They sat listening for some time.

Molly pulled her knees on the chair, hugging them to her chest. "This is nice. Is it yours?"

Sherlock nodded. "I wrote it recently." He looked directly at her.

Molly shivered despite the heat. She looked down at her hands and realized she had been unconsciously fiddling with her engagement ring. While they had not yet formally ended their engagement, Molly and Tom were all but over. After Mary and John's wedding, they had argued. It had started with something small, Tom had burned something in the oven, but before they knew it they were fighting. It had since grown into something more. Looking back Molly knew it was not about the burned lasagna at all; it was just an excuse to fight when they both knew that it wasn't working out. Molly had told Tom about her friendship with Sherlock, but she knew Tom had seen directly through her. He could see that she cared about Sherlock more than she let on. This had become especially more evident since Sherlock's return. Molly had tried to move on, but seeing Sherlock again had proved what she already knew was true, that she was still in love with him. Tom had moved his things out of her flat a few days later. Luckily, he had kept his own place. Neither one had wanted to admit at the time what it really meant, but they both knew. The engagement was over.

Molly looked up and saw that Sherlock was staring at her hands.

"When I said before I'm starting on a new case, I wasn't lying. It's rather complicated and I need your assistance."

"Sure. What do you need?"

Sherlock stood up and started pacing around the room. "It involves a woman."

"A woman?"

"A woman that you've met."

"Oh?"

"I'm going to have to seduce this woman in order to gain access into a highly secured office building to steal a letter that belongs to my client."

"What?"

The oven timer beeped. Molly had been trying to process what Sherlock had said and it took her a moment to figure out why he was heading toward the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Neither spoke as Sherlock opened the oven door and took out the golden brown pie. He set it on the table and they both marveled at their creation.<p>

"Not bad." Even Sherlock was impressed. They let it sit to cool and sat down in the kitchen chairs.

"So who is this woman?"

"Janine."

"Mary's maid-of-honor?"

Sherlock nodded.

"So Janine works for someone that you are investigating?"

Again Sherlock nodded, carefully studying her expression.

"Why do you have to seduce her? Why can't you just have her get you into the building?"

Sherlock took a knife and cut two pieces of the pie slowly with scientific precision.

Molly grabbed two plates and forks and they both dug in. It was completely silent for a few moments as they both savored their deliciously sweet and flaky efforts. Even Sherlock closed his eyes in appreciation.

"It has to be very secret. No one can know about it. Janine has to be kept fully in the dark. I can't risk her or anyone letting it slip."

Sherlock was showing his trust in Molly. He was letting her know even though it was a risk. She had kept his other secret for two years without telling a soul.

"Where do I come in?"

"I've been chatting with Janine for a few days now and today I asked her to come over. If things go well, Janine will be coming over here often and perhaps staying the night."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I…er…well, I'm not looking to take things _that_ far. If you know what I mean?"

Molly set down the fork on her empty plate.

"Molly, I know you think what I'm doing is not…right. But it's the only way. I feel that taking things _that_ far with Janine is not necessary, but I'll need a place to stay so she doesn't get suspicious why we're not…"

Molly cleared her throat. "So Janine comes over and you excuse yourself on some urgent business and come over to my place for the night."

"Yes, exactly."

Molly sucked in a deep breath. This was not the first time Sherlock had used her flat. The first few days after his faked death, he had stayed with her before heading off to dismantle the rest of Moriarty's network. She had been surprised at the knock on her door that night. He hadn't mentioned it when he detailed the plan to her. They hadn't talked much. He couldn't reveal many details of his trip since even he didn't really know what exactly was going to happen. Sherlock had slept on her couch that first night. Molly called in sick to work the next day. Everyone had understood. They knew she was mourning for her friend. What they didn't know is that she had faked his death certificate and prepared another body to place in his coffin. Sherlock had met with Mycroft during the day to go over their plan, but he came back late at night to stay with her once more. This time Molly had insisted that he sleep in the bed, since he looked exhausted. Her couch was far too small to accompany his long legs. This time he didn't refuse, but instead of using the spare bedroom, to her surprise, he went to her room. She had slept on the couch smelling his scent from the previous night, wondering if he was doing the very same thing. The next morning she checked the bed, but found it empty. He had left before the sun rose. There had been a note on the pillow: _Molly, I don't know the next time I will see you again. It may be some time. Thank you for everything. I owe you. Until we meet again. -SH._ Even though she had known he was alive, it still hurt. The situation he was getting involved with was far from safe and she worried for him. There was no one she could talk to. She had climbed into the bed that still had traces of his warm body and had fallen into a restless sleep.

"Look I know you have Tom now…" Sherlock said, breaking her reverie.

"Tom and I are…well… he moved out."

Somehow Molly knew that Sherlock had already deduced this. She wondered if this had played any part in his decision to ask her this favor. Surely, he had other places to stay. There was always Mycroft's, or he could stay in John and Mary's flat, which was empty for the time being. Why was he asking her? The only possible answer made her heart beat a little faster.

"I guess it would be alright. I mean I don't like what you're doing to Janine."

"I know. I wouldn't do it if it weren't necessary. Molly, you know I don't go around breaking people's hearts for fun."

Molly wondered if Sherlock was also thinking about the day they solved cases together and the anger he had shown towards Mr. Windibank for playing with his stepdaughter's heart. Molly knew the reason was because she had been sitting there. It was as if Sherlock wanted to show her he'd changed. He was proving to her that messing with a person's heart was inexcusable. And here he was asking her permission to do the very same thing.

Sherlock had come back to London a changed man. Whatever he had gone through in the past two years must have provided him a lot of time to think. Seeing his reflection in her locker mirror at Bart's that day gave her a mix of emotions. It was thrilling to see his face again knowing that he was safe from harm, but it was also like a bullet to her heart. She had been waiting for that moment for so long, just to see his face again, but she was now engaged. In the two years of his absence, Molly had mourned, both publicly and privately. To everyone else, she was just naturally upset over her friend's death. But privately, she mourned the loss of seeing him everyday, laughing with him, and just being in his presence. The more time she spent with him, the more hope she had that he could one day return her affections. The day when he came to her for help, she had seen the spark she had been hoping for. The brief glimpse that maybe it was possible for the two of them. But it happened right before he had to disappear for a long time. It was like a cruel joke from the universe. In the midst of her loneliness, she had met Tom through mutual friends. He was nice, steady, had a normal job, and he was familiar in a way, but he was not Sherlock. She tried to forget Sherlock, willing herself to fall out of love and she thought she finally had. When Tom proposed, Molly really believed it could work. She was happy. Tom didn't give her the thrill in her soul like Sherlock, but she did love him. No matter how hard she tried, however, she learned it could never surpass the love she had for the consulting detective.

Sherlock stood up to put his plate in the sink and turned around so his back was facing her. Molly noticed for the first time several faint scars running from his shoulders down along his spine. She wondered if it was evidence of what he had gone through in his trek throughout Europe. Then, as if someone else had taken control of her body, she felt her hand reach over and run her fingers along one of the faint pink lines. His skin was warm and smooth. He flinched but didn't move away.

Molly withdrew her hand, surprising herself by her boldness.

"I'll help you, Sherlock."

He remained facing the other way.

"I would never hurt you, Molly." He took a deep breath. "I know that sometimes I speak without thinking and I regret some of the things I've said to you. I can't promise I won't ever do it again, but I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you."

The once sunny room had now darkened. The storm was looming. The air in the flat had cooled a little with the expected rain. The curtains blew in the windows while the sounds of violin still floated in the air.

The whole day had felt surreal. It was as though the heat had caused everything to get off kilter. There was electricity in the air. Molly could feel it course through her body.

It had become too much. She needed to leave before she said or did something she would regret. The way things had been going who knows what could happen next.

Molly grabbed her now somewhat damp t-shirt off the floor and shoved it over her head. She began to gather up all of Mrs. Hudson's loaned ingredients to take back to her. Sherlock had turned around and was now watching her.

"I've always trusted you, Sherlock. Even when you do act like a bastard." She gave him a small smile. "I know deep down you're a good person. Sometimes you just have a funny way of showing it. Come over to my place any time you want, but just be careful with Janine. Try not to cause any damage."

Molly knew that this was likely not possible and Sherlock didn't offer any consolation.

"What needs to be done will be done. It's the only way to protect my client. But, I can't say I'm looking forward to it."

Molly grabbed the supplies and made the motion of leaving.

"Wait." Sherlock stopped her and pulled open a drawer in the desk. He pulled out a wad of cash.

"Here take a cab."

"No, I'm fine."

"Take it. I insist."

Molly hadn't been looking forward to the walk back to the Tube in her sweaty clothes.

"Ok. Thanks."

She noticed the half-eaten pie on the counter.

"I'll take some to Mrs. Hudson. Do you want to keep part of it?"

"No, I think Janine would get suspicious."

Molly once again gathered up her supplies along with the pie and was almost out the door when Sherlock touched her shoulder.

"Molly. Thank you for coming over here today…and for everything…"

"It was no trouble."

Sherlock's expression looked pained. They both stood silently with words on the tips of their tongues that they couldn't say.

"I'll be seeing you then, Molly Hooper." He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, lingering for a moment. She could feel his breath on her neck and it gave her goosebumps.

No matter how many times Sherlock kissed her, it always left Molly speechless. The air was sucked out of her lungs. She could still feel the imprint of his lips burning into her skin. He was so tender, his touch was so soft. What would it be like to feel those lips on hers? She was scared by how much she wanted it, how much she wanted _him_.

Molly didn't know where the future held. But she was hopeful. That kiss gave her hope. Sherlock, surely, had to see the effect he had on her. He wouldn't torture her like this if it didn't mean anything. He just wouldn't. Not unless he felt something too.

She couldn't manage any words so she just nodded, gave him one last look, and left.

Mrs. Hudson was shocked by Molly's success and gratefully accepted the fruits of their labor. Molly made a mental note to visit her on a more regular basis. She could tell Mrs. Hudson appreciated having someone to chat with who didn't constantly make sarcastic replies. But Molly wasn't really in the mood to talk at the moment, so she made her excuses with the promise that she would stop by again soon.

Just as Molly stepped out the door, it started to rain. It had already cooled off quite a bit and there was a sense of release. The pressure had been lifted allowing the precipitation to fall. The cool rain on her skin helped to calm the burning sensation she felt in her heart. After a few moments, she finally hailed a cab. As she was shutting the door, she happened to look up.

Sherlock was standing by the window, watching her with a solemn expression.

Just as the cab started to move, Molly noticed another cab pull up to the curb. A tall, dark-haired woman in an expensive dress got out and approached the door to 221. _Janine_.

Her cab jerked forward and turned the corner off of Baker Street, leaving Sherlock and Janine behind.

Molly looked down at her hands in her lap. She was unconsciously fiddling with her engagement ring again. This time she removed it from her finger and slipped it into her pocket.

There was something she needed to do.

THE END


End file.
